Amnesia
by summerxsky
Summary: UPDATED! Wilson and House work through their 'relationship' when Wilson gets another divorce. However, when Wilson is in a car accident, he suffers from amnesia...will they pull through?
1. Chapter 1: Sweet Coffee

A/N: Just drabble. I'm playing around with a few ideas because I want to start a longer fic...tell me what you think! Any ideas?

Disclaimer: Do not own House MD or any of the characters.

* * *

Wilson picked at the old blanket which was gradually unravelling. Like his life. He sighed and tossed the tattered thing aside and lay back on the couch. He really was pathetic. Three - _three_ - wives. Third time lucky, his mother had said. Hoped. What had House said? Oh yes..."You really like my couch, don't you?" Or something along those lines. He had been the best man (through much persuasion and two baseball tickets) for the first wedding. The second wedding hadn't been the same without House's sarcastic speech. He had been in hospital at the time and Wilson had felt guilty for leaving his friend throughout the entire ceremony. The third...he had thrown a ridiculous buck's night and refused to come the next day, complaining of a hangover. But Wilson knew he just couldn't walk down the aisle with everyone staring at him. _At his leg_. Wilson smiled sadly to himself in the dark. 

"Don't you ever sleep?" Wilson looked up as the kitchen light was switched on. A dishevelled (well, more than usual) House stood by the counter, a dark blue dressing gown wrapped around his body. He yawned and blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the dull yellow light.

"Not tired," said Wilson apologetically. House rolled his eyes and begna filling the kettle with water.

"Coffee?" he offered. _I don't want to talk_. Wilson nodded and stood up, stretching. He walked to the kitchen and took out two mugs. "I like the black one." Wilson put back the 'World's Greatest Doctor' cup without complaint. He was being difficult tonight.

"Any interesting cases?" Wilson asked, trying to make conversation. House yawned again as he pressed the button on the kettle. The little bulb turned red and they stood there, waiting.

"No," said House finally. He tilted his head slightly and examined his friend. "You look awful." Wilson half-smiled as he tipped a teaspoon of coffee into one mug, then the other. They were like an old married couple.

"You're not going to win any beauty contests any time soon."

"I'm not the one who irons his underwear!" They slipped into the uncomfortable banter as they avoided what they really wanted to talk about.

"How's Cameron?" said Wilson slyly. House shot him a glare as the kettle gave a little ping and poured hot water into each cup.

"Sugar?" avoided House. Wilson shook his head. "You always take sugar."

"Julie didn't like it." The words hung in the air, wrapping themselves around his throat. House shrugged and tipped a heaped two spoonfuls into Wilson's mug.

"Time to live dangerously," he said, handing the hot coffee to his friend. Wilson blew gently over the creamy brown liquid and inhaled the comforting smell as it brought back old memories.


	2. Chapter 2: Deception and Closets

The papers sat on his desk, laughing at him. Which they would be, if they had mouths. Shouting and screaming at him too. The harsh black ink dripped with hatred. Wilson picked up his pen and placed it on the faint dotted line, a feeling of nausea washing over him. He threw the pen down and put his hands to his head. This was the worst part of divorce. Funny how such a simple thing, something he did everyday without thinking, could hurt so much. Wilson could hardly remember how to write.

_Sign and post by Monday_

_J._

Short and cold. That was Julie through and through. Wilson groaned and picked the pen up again, determined to do it again. It felt strange, signing away over a year of his life. A year he would never claim back. His left hand shook as he made a 'J'-

"Need a consult." House burst into his office in his usual manner and plonked himself down onto the chair opposite. Wilson glared at him.

"I'm in the middle of something, House," he said irritatedly. House rolled his eyes and snatched the papers from his desk, his sharp blue eyes scanning the tiny print in a matter of seconds.

"Give me the pen," he said.

"What? No!" House dug around in his pocket before finding a black biro. He signed the papers with a flourish while Wilson watched on in amazement, too stunned to speak. He slipped them into the envelope (which Julie had so kindly provided, stamped and addressed) and licked the seal.

"That's how you do it," he said with a practised air.

"You can't do that!" exclaimed Wilson, his mouth hanging dumbly open. House shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Just did."

"You _forged _my signature! She'll know it's not mine."

"Whatever. You just scribble anyway. She won't be able to tell the difference. She's not too bright." Wilson sat back into his hard-backed chair, still shocked. But also glad. House gave his friend a second before asking again.

"Consult." Wilson looked up at him, dazed, before standing up.

"Right. Okay." He walked out of his office, House limping close behind.

* * *

"You can't just start treatment on a _hunch_," said Wilson as House piled chips onto his plate. 

"Yeah."

"Are you even listening to me?" House turned his head.

"Shall I give you the truth or the answer you want to hear?" Wilson sighed (something he seemed to do a lot these days) and pulled his wallet out, handing over $20. The lunch lady raised an over-plucked eyebrow as she pulled open the cashier. House smiled at Wilson as he nicked an apple off his plate.

"You hate fruit," he said, scowling. House took a big bite with relish.

"Nah. It's _healthy, _remember?" They sat down by their favourite bench outside. Wilson could hear children screaming on the playground a few hundred metres away. "I hate children," said House.

"No kidding."

"Hate parents too."

"Why don't you just say 'people' and get it over and done with?" asked Wilson, exasperated.

"I hate - Cuddy, you look absolutely stunning today!" Cuddy narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. House smiled innocently. "Really. That blouse...I love the detail around the neckline."

"Why is Mrs Prichard complaining about you? She said you told her that her husband was probably cheating on her," Cuddy almost yelled.

"Who wouldn't cheat on her? She is old and _fat_." He turned back to Wilson. "I hate fat people too."

"But you also said she was hideously over-weight and would die within the next year!"

"I was giving my medical opinion! Someone had to tell her."

"And it had to be you, of course," snapped Cuddy. "Two more clinic hours."

"Oh, but Mummy! My leg hurts," he pouted. Wilson watched the exchange, amused.

"Pity nothing else does." She talked off, her high heels clicking on the pavement.

"Well, that was interesting."

"I hate Cuddy."

"No, I really felt the sexual tension there," commented Wilson, putting a piece of cucumber into his mouth.

"How can you eat rabbit food?" asked House, changing the subject.

"It's healthy."

"So?"

"We're doctors, we know the risks."

"So?"

"So, we...set an example." Wilson eyed his friend thoughtfully. "Although you may be a special case." House nodded, chewing on a greasy chip.

"So what did you do?" he asked, swallowing. Wilson went silent. "Oh, come on. You're going to crash on my couch for at least a month, I have a right to know!"

"No, you don't."

"Jenny in Oncology."

"What? No way. Not my type."

"_Everything_ is your type," said House. Wilson frowned. "Save your sulking for later, you can go and play depressing music in your office. Rachel, down in clinic."

"Why do you always assume it's a pretty one? Am I really that shallow?" House tilted his head as he sipped his Coke.

"You really want me to answer that? Katie in Radiology."

"No, and her name's Yasmin."

"Hey, you would know."

"But I don't!" Wilson cried out. House smirked.

"Ooh...so it's a guy?"

"What? No!" House feigned amazement.

"Wilson is _g-a-y,_" he sang gleefully. Several heads turned and Wilson face-palmed. "Don't worry, I'll support you through this difficult time. Coming out is - "

"Who's coming out?" asked Chase, sitting down next to House. House scowled at the young doctor.

"Did we _ask_ you to join us?" Chase bit into his slice of pizza.

"Nuh, all the other tables were full," he said, his mouth full. House made a face before stuffing his own face. Wilson watched them for awhile before takinga chip from House's plate.

"Hey!"

"I paid for it!"

"So who's coming out anyway?" asked Chase between mouthfuls. Wilson observed him with amused disgust, wishing he had gotten pizza as well.

"Wilshurfn."

"What?"

"Pardon, not what," corrected House, taking a long swig from the can. "_Wilson_." Wilson stood up abruptly, and coughed.

"Err...patient," he mumbled, hurrying off.

"He's finding it very difficult," whispered House loudly.


	3. Chapter 3: Bad Boy

A/N: Sorry it's so short! I'll update soon during the holidays with a longer entry!

* * *

Wilson sat in the passenger seat, silent. 

"You're not still pissed because I signed the papers, are you?" asked House, his eyes on Wilson.

"Keep your eyes on the road," he said, monotone.

"Oo-kay. _Touchy,_" he muttered, lookingat the road. "Someone needs some happy pills." Suddenly, Wilsonsnapped.

"Look, I have just - or you just - signed divorce papers for the _bloodythird time,_ I am NOT going to be in a good mood! My life is completely falling apart and yet all you can do is stand at the sidelines and make fun of me!You - you -" House pulled over and the two men looked everywhere except at each other.

"Maybe we should talk," said House softly. Wilson gave a disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah," he said, calmer after his outburst.

"You know I'm sorry," said House, staring straight ahead.

"Yeah. You just don't know how to show it." Wilson sighed.

"You don't really want to talk, do you?" asked House plaintively. "I'm not too great at that." This time Wilson laughed properly.

"I know. You're crap at talking."

"Maybe we both are," said House defensively. "If you hadn't - "

"Okay, okay. No talking. Let's just go home."

"Home sweet home," he murmured, starting the car up again. The darkness swallowed them, and Wilson half-wished they could stay that way forever.

* * *

They made it back to House's apartment, making useless conversation all the way. Wilson noted that House had dropped the sarcasm, and was grateful. He opened the door with his key (he had cut one for himself after the operation in case...in case something happened) and staggered to the couch, sinking into its familiarity. 

"We're like the Odd Couple," said House, closing the door with a soft bump. Wilson smiled and ran a hand through his hair. "All right, rub it in. You've got hair. Whoopdeedoo." Wilson kicked off his shoes and picked up the phone.

"Indian or Chinese?"

"What, you ringing the local strip club?"yelled House from his bedroom. "Told you, don't do that kind of stuff anymore. And I thought you were all healthy now?"

"_Take-away_." He came out, wearing a loose jumper and jeans.

"Pizza." He could never agree with anything, could he? But Wilson felt he had caused enough trouble and dialed the local pizza delivery place. A rather young-sounding voice picked up on the other end.

_"Carly's Pizza Place_, how may I help you?"

"Two-"

"Three," interuppted House. "I eat a lot. Growing boy and all that." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, three pizzas. Pep-"

"All the toppings. No anchovies."

"Stop it!" hissed Wilson. "Oh, sorry! Not you. I was talking to my...err...dog." House laughed and gave an obligatory bark. Wilson grinned. "Keeps pissing on the furniture. Anyway - three large pizzas, all the toppings except anchovies. Five minutes? That's fine. Thank you very much. Yes. Okay. Thank you."

"If I had a dollar for every time you said thank you..." mused House.

"You'd be a millionaire?" finished Wilson. House cocked his head to one side, spinning his cane with one hand.

"And you'd be a suck-up." The two friends laughed together, their previous troubles forgotten. The promise of food(the first in a few months) was too tempting to row. House switched on the television and they settled back to watch a re-run of some old sitcom.


	4. Chapter 4: Accidental Hopes

_A/N: Okay...I'm sorry! Another really short chapter - but the holidays are NEAR! I had to write it before I forgot..._

* * *

Completely full after the wonderfully greasy and _unhealthy _pizza, Wilson leaned back into the couch, content. He looked at his friend who was relaxing, his eyes half-closed.

"Play me something." It had been so long (almost five years, in fact) since he had heard House play. House shrugged and limped slowly to the piano. Soft chords were teased out of the old instrument and Wilson sighed.

Maybe things were going to be all right after all.

* * *

"-not your signature? What do you take me for, James? An idiot?" yelled the voice. Wilson held the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. There was a short pause and he tried again. 

"Julie, please listen-"

"Why should I, James? You give me one, just _one _reason why I should listen to you!"

"Julie-"

"You saunter home at nearly midnight after going to the bar with that pathetic friend of yours-"

"Ju-"

"-God knows what on earth you see in him! I thought we were going to make it, and..." She had started crying now, and Wilson couldn't bare it any longer. He put the phone down and buried his head in his hands, wanting to...to what? Turn back time? Sure, he played God everyday, but time was something he could not control. Not that he hadn't tried.Wilson breathed in deeply and counted to ten before staggering out of his office, leaving his coat behind.

* * *

They found his car in the early hours of dawn, Wilson lying face down on the road a few metres away. 

_Tick tock_

_Tick tock_

_Tick tick..._


	5. Chapter 5: Remembering Rejection

_A/N: Ta-da! Hee-hee. Will be re-titled **'AMNESIA'** soon, so don't look for Possibilities. You can guess the rest, I s'pose. But I shall add some twists to make it...shall we say_...interesting.

_Enjoy! Thank you for all the reviews - if you have any ideas (even silly ones), I'd be happy to receive them!_

_(Again, it's not as long as I would like...but I'm tired. Humour me D )_

* * *

It was so...dark. And blurry. Since when had things been blurry? Wilson blinked a couple of times as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light. What had happened again? His ears strained: someone was talking. To him? Yes. _Yes_. 

"Can you hear me? Hello?" A man in a uniform with a cross on the arms was looking at him. Wilson opened his mouth, but no answer came. He seemed surprised. The man was now going through a brown leather thing. A wallet? He took out a small white card.

"Wilson, James. Okay, James. You've just been in an accident-"

He had? Oh yes...the truck. Red, it had been. Very loud too.

"-and you seem to suffering from a concussion. No serious injuries-"

Good. That was good, right? Wilson managed a small smile, and the man grinned back at him.

"-but we'll get you to Princeton-Plainsboro. You may have to stay over night-"

That was bad. Where did he live? Some apartment. Messy. A puzzling picture was slowly forming in his mind. A piano. He remembered a piano. He frowned slightly in frustration and tried to make himself think. It was all there somewhere. What else?

"-but I think you'll be just fine. Can you nod for me?" Wilson obliged the kind man a nod as they gently lifted him into the back of the ambulance.

* * *

There were so many people. He'd never seen so many new faces before. Pretty women wearing the same clothes came in and out of his room, some old guy with a clipboard...they all seemed to know him. But he didn't know any of them. He could barely remember their names. Wilson disliked the way they talked to him, as if he was going to break down any minute. Or how they all looked so sorry for him. He didn't feel sorry for himself - why should they? 

"Now, James. How are we today?" asked one of the women (she was the dark-haired one. Lucy? Linda?) who had been . Wilson kept quiet. She seemed so familiar, and yet... She sighed and looked at him, her eyes wide with concern. Wilson wanted to scream with irritation.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, before realising he sounded like a tantrum-prone five-year-old. He almost wanted to pout. But the woman just sighed again.

"James, do you know what happened?" she said slowly.

"I was in a car accident_." Next question_.

"Yes, you were. And you suffered from quite serious head-trauma. We didn't notice it at first, but..."

"Mm-hmm." What did she mean?

"Do you understand?"

"_Yes. _When can I go home?" He sounded pathetic now. The woman looked like she was going to cry. Wilson hoped she wouldn't.

"Do you remember where you live?" Linda/Lucy asked quietly. _Pass, next question, please_.

"I..." Wilson felt frightened now. People should know these things. "No. No, I don't. I'm sorry." He threw in the apology at the end for good measure. Maybe it was his fault.

"Oh, James," said the woman. Something bleeped, and her hand went to her waist. She took out a small black machine-thingy and looked at it, swearing under her breath. She tried to smile at him. "I have to go now, but I'll be back later, okay?" Wilson shrugged. It wouldn't make a difference to him if she never came back.

He'd feel better if she didn't.

* * *

"Isn't that so awful about Wilson?" said Cameron, as caring and compassionate as ever. Chase nodded, his eyes on his daily crossword puzzle. 

"Yeah, I know. 10 letters, meeting place."

"Rendez-vous," answered Foreman, sitting down with his coffee in one hand. "It's unusual, though. Head trauma doesn't normally do that much damage. There are usually other factors." Chase shrugged.

"You're the neurologist, Foreman." Foreman rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean. High blood pressure, high cholesterol, high homocysteine, lack of exercise...and depression." There was a slight pause.

"He did just get another divorce," commented Cameron thoughtfully, finishing the last dregs of cold coffee. She made a face as she swallowed.

"Yeah. But he's had two before - nothing new for him. It's not like he hasn't been there before," Chase said, putting down the newspaper. "He knows the game."

"House isn't taking it too well," said Cameron, scribbling her curly signature on a prescription.

"He doesn't take anything well. What're you doing?"

"Signing his prescription for Vicodin."

"Should you be doing that?" asked Chase, frowning. Cameron stood up and walked to the sink, placing her empty cup in it.

"Who else will?" Foreman raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure this isn't one of those girl-things? You know, be nice to the guy when his down, maybe he'll-"

"No. _No_," she said, a little too forcefully. Chase watched the exchange, crossword finished. She coughed, a pink blush colouring her normally pale cheeks. "I'm just being nice."

"You're just _being_ nicer than normal."

"How can someone be too nice?" asked Cameron, her hands going to her hips. "Wilson-" She cut herself off and sat down. "He's going through a hard time, that's all."

"Any new cases?" said Chase, coming to the rescue. She smiled at him gratefully. Foreman gave Cameron one more amused look before flicking open a file.

"Nothing House would be interested in."

"I'm glad you all know me _so well_. When shall we have the sleepover? I'll bring the girly-movies. We can watch them and _cry,_" said House loudly, limping in.

"How are you?" said Cameron, worry washing her features grey.

"Apart from a bum leg, constant pain, I am absolutely _deeeelightful_ this pleasant morning," said House brightly.

"I meant-"

"I know what you meant." He headed into his office and closed the door.

* * *

House leaned back in his chair, spinning around slowly. He liked the slight feeling of nausea as he became dizzy - almost like he was flying. Flying away. Stupid Wilson, he thought. Trust him to go and get himself into a car accident, but on top of that, to lose his memory? What kind of loser (he smiled at the bad pun) did that? Sure, he broke up with his wife, but it wasn't like he hadn't done it before. So what, move out, move _on_. A tiny niggling voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he hadn't been able to, but House pushed it away. He wasn't like Wilson - Wilson was meant to be strong. Wilson was not meant to be lying in one of the narrow hospital beds in La-la land. He was meant to be saving the world, curing cancer. Bringing the dead back to life. Only idiots went into Oncology. But then again, mused House, that was Wilson through and through. There to pick up the pieces.That had always - _always_ - been Wilson's job. Not his. 

He stood up and stretched, wincing slightly as his leg gave a little twang of pain. House still had not seen his friend, merely looked through the window. Cuddy (and Stacy, not that her opinion was worth much), and even Cameron had told him to go and see his 'friend'. His friend who could now longer remember him. The nurses were probably telling him terrible stories about him. He sighed and picked up his cane. After all, what was the point?Ten years of friendship down the drain. Too much time spent making it work. Wilson (if he never recovered his memory) wouldn't want to be friends with him anyway, House told himself. He had always been pretty crappy at 'friend-stuff'. Like listening and comforting. Not his thing. Maybe it would be better for the both of them if he just let it go. Never talk to Wilson again. He'd miss him (the one sane _constant_ thing in his depressing life), but he would move on.

(Although Wilson had been there push him along the...the last time. Could he do it on his own?)

Yeah.

If you lied to yourself often enough, it became second-nature.

_But the truth hurts more_.

He couldn't face rejection again.


	6. Chapter 6: Visitors

_A/N: This isn't as good as I would have liked it. But I'll re-do later. _

_

* * *

_Wilson was bored. Very bored. Nurses did not make good conversation. They either: 

a) avoided him and refused to look him the eye (did he look that bad? He didn't smell, or anything...)

b) gave him angry glares (which was annoying, since he didn't know what he'd done)

c) blushed and giggled.

The gigglers were the worst, he concluded. Clumsy too.

At least he was now allowed to eat on his own. Now more stupid IV drip thing. Wilson felt like he'd just been potty trained, but savoured the 'independence'.

"And how is Dr Wilson today?" said the old man, coming in. Wilson plastered a smile on his face.

"I'm fine," he said, matching the man's tone. "When can I go ho- leave?" The man dropped his cheery expression.

"Well, we're not too sure at the moment. Your memory-" Wilson sighed and relaxed into his pillows.

"Yeah." Now he looked all fatherly and concerned.

"Have you had many visitors?" he asked.

"Not really. Who wants to see the guy who doesn't know who you are?" joked Wilson lightly. He nodded and wrote something down on his chart.

"I'll speak to Cuddy. You're well enough now. Visitors could trigger your memory. Act as a sort of catalyst." Wilson felt hope bubble up inside him. He felt so...so frustrated. Losing so many _years_, just like that.

"Thank you, Doctor," he said formally. The man nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Cameron knocked on the closed door and waited, nervous. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe- 

"Come in!" She turned the knob and cautiously walked in. Wilson lay on the bed, holding a book in his hands. He smiled at her encouragingly and she felt her confidence increase. Cameron sat on the chair next to the bed.

"I'm...Allison," she said at last, the awkward feeling returning. It felt so strange, introducing (or re-introducing?) herself to him.

"I'm - well. You probably know my name already," he said cheerfully. She smiled and nodded. They looked at each for awhile. His brown eyes were bright and afraid. Uncertain.

"Do you - do you want to...know?" Wilson wanted to thank her. Worship her, the first person willing to tell him the story of his life.

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble." Cameron leaned forwards, about to take his hand before thinking the better of it. He didn't know her. But she knew him. He was still as charming and...unfailing _kind_ as he had been before.

"I don't know where to start," she laughed, uneasy. Wilson half-smiled at her.

"I don't either. What...was I a doctor?" he asked. "They call me Doctor Wilson, and I-"

"Yes," she interuppted. "You were. _Are. _You're an oncologist. Head of Oncology, even." Wilson leaned back into his pillows.

"I never...I always wanted to be a doctor," he said to the ceiling."Am I...?"

"You're a good doctor," she reassured. "The best. And one of the youngest too!"He did not look at her. She was wondering what he was thinking. He looked so lost. Younger. Cameron wanted to wrap him up in cotton wool and protect him from the world.

"My..family?" She was quiet for awhile. What to say? She started with the obvious -the dead can wait.

"You haveone brother." Wilson seemed slightly puzzled by this, butshe continued. "Your father-"

"Is dead," he supplied. Now it was Cameron's turn to look surprised.

"How'd you-"

"Instinct," he said, grinning sadly. "My mother?"

"Has caught the next flight out to see you." He nodded and opened his mouth again.

"Am I married?" he asked, feeling ridiculous. Asking a woman (half his age at that) whom he had no memory of ever meeting was sitting here answering his questions. Cameron thought quickly. She did not know much of his...situation, only that Julie had been informed of the accident. And that she hadn't come to see him. Two weeks was a long time of 'being too busy'.

"Divorced,"she said, wondering how much she should tell him. But then, it was his life. He'd have to live it again anyway. "Three times." Her voice was quiet and sympathetic. Wilson turned away. Was that why the nurses were so... Cameron moved on quickly.

"Your patients love you," she said in a rush. "Ho - someone once told me they had to pay you ten dollars every time one of them thanked you after telling them they were going to die. Which was often." Wilson looked at the young woman. She was so sincere. Trusting_. Vulnerable. _

"Really?"

"Really." They laughed together, anything to ease the strangeness of the situation.

"What else...I have this feeling you do not know me very well," he said kindly, not wishing to insult her after she had been so helpful. Slowly the gaps were being filled.

"No, I don't. But Cuddy-" Aah...Linda/Lucy. He had overheard the other doctors call her that. "-might be able to tell you...more." Her pager bleeped a merry little tune.

"You should go,"said Wilson. Cameron stood up unwillingly.

"Will you-"

"I will be fine." She left the room, turning back once to look at him. He picked up his book again and turned the pages,the words swimming before his eyes.

* * *

Chase idly walked down the corridor, a warm cup of coffee in his hand. He was almost done for the day and was looking forward to going home. There was some television show on that night. House had not taking on any new cases, so he had spent most of his time (inbetween lunch and crossword breaks) in the Intensive Care Unit. There had been a fire in one of the nearby schools, and some of the younger children had been badly burned. He passed room 1082 and paused. Should he go in? Introduce himself? It wouldn't hurt, he supposed. Wilson did not know him anymore, after all. He felt sorry for the guy. 

"Can I come in?" Wilson took off his reading glasses and observed the young doctor. He was a handsome man, with floppy blond hair and blue eyes that girls probably tripped over for.

"Of course, Doctor..."

"Call me Chase," he said, sitting down with no hint of embarrassment or uncertainty.

"...Chase." There was a brief pause as Chase sipped at his coffee.

"How long have you been working here?" asked Wilson.

"Almost a year now. Moved here from Australia."

"I see. Which department do you work in?" Wilson said, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Diagnostic Medicine. Under Doctor House. I assume you know him?" he replied carefully.

"No, I...should I? Know him, I mean?" Chase cocked his head to one side so his blond hair covered his left eye.

"He's your best friend, I should hope so!" he laughed. Wilson pondered this for a moment. A best friend who had not been to see him yet. "He's probably at a crucial stage in 'Burn Out' or something." Chase felt a bit guilty for...telling on House? It wasn't his problem he hadn't been to see his so-called friend. But he did like Wilson. "He's probably in trouble or something," he said lightly. "Law suit." Lying came easily to him, having done it before many times.

"Oh."

"He'll see you soon, I'm sure. He's had no one to talk to for weeks now," said Chase, filling his voice with false charm.

"Yes," Wilson smiled. "Thank you for visiting me." Chase stood up and awkwardly shook Wilson's hand.

"No problem." He left the room, feeling strangely guilty.


	7. Chapter 7: Exes and Sacrifice

_A/N: Thank you to all the reviewers! House's meeting with Wilson is coming up...but not yet._

* * *

"_Go and see him_," said Cuddy, glaring at House. She leaned forwards and House looked down her shirt pointedly. Slightly embarrassed, she stood up and folded her arms. She didn't know how to get around House the way Wilson could, and he knew it. 

"What he can't remember he can't miss," said House, absently playing with a yellow yo-yo. "Or is it what-"

"House. He's stuck by you for so many years. Surely you owe him that?" Her face softened. He looked so forlorn. Like a lamb without its mother.

"He doesn't _remember_ me," he snapped.

"What would he do if it was you lying there?" she snapped back sharply, cursing herself for having to sink so low. House didn't have to answer her. "Exactly. He's your best - and only - friend, House. _Go and see him_." She walked out of his office, closing the door softly behind her.

* * *

Cameron sat by the computer, idly checking her (empty since a few minutes ago) inbox. Out of the corner of her eye she could see House lying on the floor listening to some loud symphony. Cuddy had left almost an hour ago. 

"Don't, Cameron." She looked up at Foreman who was suddenly standing next to her. "It's their problem."

"How'd you-"

"You are ridiculously predictable," he said with a smirk. "House will go on his own. Or not go at all. The latter probably suits Wilson more."

"How can you say that?" asked Cameron, slightly shocked. "They've been friends for so long-"

"Yeah, and where did it get Wilson anywhere?" said Chase, joining in. "He got fired!"

"He got his job back," Cameron said uncomfortably.

"He stuck up for House when he couldn't do one pathetic speech!" Foreman said, shaking his head.

"I bet half the reasons for his divorces-"

"He's been unfaithful, he's no saint," interuppted Cameron, standing up.

"No, he was probably at House's picking up the pieces." Cameron was silent.

"You really think Wilson's better off without him?" she said after a while. Foreman nodded.

"Yeah, I do." She turned to Chase, almost pleading.

"I don't know, All."

"He can't...he's so lonely, Robert."

"He was lonely before," said Foreman, stating the obvious. "He drags Wilson down every time." Cameron sighed and sat down again, resting her head on her hands.

"I just think-"

"Leave them be. If they were meant to be friends, then they'll stay friends," said Chase, feeling sorry for her. "You can't rush House. He's too bloody stubborn." The three young doctors watched their boss for a few minutes.

House kept his eyes determinedly fixed on the dull ceiling, refusing to let them see his tears.

_Wilson was better off without him._

What was it his mother once told him? "The greatest love is sacrifice." Yes. He'd give that to Wilson at least. The only thing he'd ever been able to give.

* * *

"James." A woman in her early thirties with short dark hair cut into a stylish bob sat down by his bed. Wilson smiled at her. She sighed and took his hand. 

"I'm...Julie, your ex-wife." Wilson looked at her and squinted his eyes. He knew her. He _did_.

"Hi," he said roughly. Well, what did you say to a woman you love but can't remember? She stared at him for a moment, her face difficult to read. He had a small feeling that it had always been rather closed anyway.

"You really don't remember? Anything?" He shook his head. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all. He wondered how he had fallen in love with her. What she looked like when she slept. How she laughed. "Our last argument before...Oh, James, I feel so guilty." She began to cry without noticing, tears slipping down her cheeks. He wiped them away gently and she took out a tissue and blew her nose,shrinking away from his touch. Wilson felt like he had burned her.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely, figuring that an apology would probably mean more than a question. She nodded and stood up, clutching her bag to her.

"I have to - I have to go." She hurried out of the room, running into someone she knew all too well.

"Julie," he said curtly. Julie glared at the man.

"If it hadn't been for you, none of this would have happened!" she hissed. "You - you -" She gave a little cry and ran down the corridor.

"Who's there?" called out Wilson, hearing the argument. House peered around the door at his friend, lying there on the crisp white sheets. Just one look wouldn't hurt, would it? He needed to see...to see Wilson. He looked a bit pale and upset (House noted that he had also lost some weight - not surprising, really) but otherwise he looked...well

"Janitor," he said easily. Wilson nodded, his face falling. "Just...emptying the rubbish bin." He limped in, grabbed the rubbish bin and left the room, his heart beating furiously. Hey - he'd seen Wilson. Talked to him too. Cuddy would have to live with that.

"Hey!" But House was already gone. "I...They emptied the bin a fewhours ago." Wilson sighed.

He knew that man from somewhere, like he had known that woman...

_That limp. _

Wilson struggled to remember before closing his eyes, exhausted.

* * *

Cuddy walked quickly down the corridor to Wilson's room, wondering for the fifth time that day why she wore heels. House could probably give her a dozen reasons, none of them particularly flattering. She looked surprised as House ran into her, carrying a rubbish bin.

"You saw him," she said, pleased. House looked into the empty bin.

"Yeah."

"And?" she pressed, wanting to jump up and down with joy. She had actually made House-

"I'm not going again," he mumbled, turning away from her. She watched him enter the elevator and press one of the buttons with his cane. He handed the bin to one of the janitors.

"Room 1082," he said. The janitor took it grudgingly as the doors closed. House gave Cuddy a cheery wave, not fooling anybody.


	8. Chapter 8: Bittersweet Memories

A/N: Okay. It's been awhile. I know that, and I apologise :) Forgive me? Please?

---

His doctor said that he should hopefully re-gain his memory. 'Things take time,' he'd said, in that all-knowing voice Wilson had learned to hate. His mother had visited him yesterday, and he felt guilty when he wished she hadn't. She had cried, moaned and despaired of her beloved son, but seeing her made him remember his childhood.

"Jimmy? Oh, Jimmy!" Age did nothing for her previous beauty, but her eyes were kind and Wilson smiled. He knew who she was.

"Mum?" And she burst into tears after collapsing into the chair next to his bed. She held his hand with a vice-like grip, and Wilson examined her face. Laughter lines graced her delicate features which were marred with worry and sadness. He almost hated himself for not realising how much..._pain_ he could cause another person.

"I - I brought some photographs," she said, opening her large (and tattered) handbag which once contained nappies and bottles. "The doctor said that they might help." Wilson held the photographs in his hands, touching each of the faces with his finger. Emotions rushed up inside him and he struggled to control them. His mother watched him, hope glittering in her brown eyes, so similar to his own.

"That's the swing," he said in wonderment. "I fell off it after..." She smiled.

"I told Danny not to push you so high," she said. "But he never listened to me." Danny...his older brother. Wilson inhaled deeply. He hadn't seen Danny for years. Quickly, he picked out another photograph.

"My fifth birthday party."

"Yes. _Yes_. Oh, darling!" She pulled him into a hug and he relaxed in her arms, breathing her scent of home.

---

House lay on the floor of his office, his headphones on. Drowning out the world with music.

"House!" Cuddy stood glaring down at him. "_House_!" He rolled his eyes and took off the headphones.

"Busy here." She frowned.

"You saw him."

"Mm-hmm."

"You took his _rubbish bin_." House looked pointedly at the ceiling. "House! Wilson is your _friend_. One of the few people who can tolerate you. Why is so hard for you to understand that?" When he didn't answer, Cuddy sighed and sat down on his chair. She too had heard the general opinion of the hospital. _Wilson is better off without him_ was whispered through all the corridors. Wilson was liked as much as House was hated. "Don't listen to them." Again, House was silent. The two doctors sat in the office for a few moments before Cuddy stood up.

"He doesn't remember me," said House quietly. "I can't - I'm not -" He struggled to find the words he wanted. "I'm not like him. I don't know how to _fix _ people. Make it all better."

"How do you know he doesn't remember you?"

"Because - because maybe he doesn't want to." He spat the words out. "I'm not good at the friend-thing. I chase people away." Stacy's name hung unspoken in the thick air.

"He stood by you, House," said Cuddy gently. "Talk to him. Please." And she left the room, hoping that she wasn't going to lose two of her best doctors - and friends - within the short time of a month.


	9. Chapter 9: Face to Face

**A/N**: Okay. Short, yes, but the 'meetings' will get a little longer.

---

Meeting One: Tuesday, 7.35pm

Someone knocked softly on his door and Wilson put down his book, glad for a distraction.

"Come in," he called, and a man limped in. Wilson observed him, keeping the surprise away from his eyes. He was tall - very tall, in fact - with a gruff, closed face. The man had a curious pair of sharp blue eyes that carried such sadness it hurt to look into them. "My rubbish bin isn't empty, by the way. Sit down." The man half-smiled and sat down onto the chair, the relief of not standing apparent on his face.

"Greg House," said the man to the floor. Wilson blinked. _The _Greg House? His best friend?

"James Wilson," he replied politely. "I expect you know my name anyway." House nodded.

"I saw your mother yesterday."

"Yeah." He coughed and shifted slightly so he could sit up properly.

"You remember some stuff?" The conversation was beginning to get painful.

"My childhood," said Wilson. "And other bits and pieces."

"Anything else?" House sounded hopeful.

"No. The doctor -"

"Who's an idiot," supplied House, causing Wilson to smile.

"- said it would 'take time'." House snorted and the two men looked at each other shyly for the first time.

"Mm." Wilson felt he was drowning in a deep sea of blue. "Well, that was fun," said House, suddenly standing up. Clearly uncomfortable, he addressed Wilson's left ear. "Nice meeting you."

"You will - you'll come again?" asked Wilson, cringing slightly at how infantile his words sounded. House stared at his ear for a moment before jerking his head up and down. Wilson took this to be a 'yes' and, at loss for what to do, offered House his hand. The older man seemed to supress a laugh and shook it firmly.

"I'll see you tomorrow." House hurried to the door and once outside Room 1082, he allowed himself to breathe. Inside the room, the other man did the same.


	10. Chapter 10: This is Your Life

House pushed open the door with his cane. Wilson looked up from his magazine, vaguely confused.

"Hello," he said politely. House grunted and dumped his bag onto Wilson's bag.

"James Wilson, welcome to your life! We have beer, porn, junk food, Playstation games, records and more beer."

"Is that it?" asked Wilson, smiling slightly. House frowned.

"What were you expecting? A Nobel Prize?"

"Well, no. I'm very grateful-"

"Enough already. I'm drowning in your sweetness," said House, slipping a DVD into the player on the wall which turned out to be old re-runs of General Hospital. The two men watched the complicated lives of the soap stars unfold in companionable silence.

"Greg-"

"House."

"House," amended Wilson contritely. "Can you - can you tell me? About myself, I mean?" House rolled his eyes.

"Now why do you always have to ruin a perfectly good moment?"

"I-" Wilson stopped, not sure how far he could push this strange man. House popped open a beer and took a long gulp.

"You are an oncologist who chases anything that moves in a skirt. You have a bad taste in music. You are a terrible driver. You have mastered the art of manipulation. You melt the heart of every woman with your puppy-dog eyes and 'I'm listening' expression. You have a wandering eye and a problem with commitment." House paused dramatically. "And you also can't hold your drink." Wilson stared at House, unsure as to how to react. Finally, he coughed and took a wary sip of beer, the bubbles going up his nose. House raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Not the most flattering description, was it?"

"If you wanted a fairytale, you should have asked Cameron," said House. "She's all sugar and spice and happy endings." Wilson laughed, and at that moment, realised why they had been friends.


	11. Chapter 11: Meant Well

It became their daily routine. Wilson took to watching the clock tick to five, which was when House would arrive without fail. They had developed an uneasy relationship, not quite friendship, not quite strangers. They were acquaintances, to say the very least. If House had his way, they would not speak at all. But in between General Hospital re-runs and Monster Truck recordings, Wilson squeezed out bits of his old self from the man with the blue eyes.

"Was I a morning person?"

"Unfortunately," came the short answer. House shoved a couple of crisps into his mouth, munching noisily.

"What was my favourite food?"

"Pizza." Wilson frowned. That didn't sound like him. Or at least, that didn't sound like the him that he thought he knew. House looked at the man out of the corner of his eye. "Well, it was the food you ate the most anyway." That was better.

"My first...love?"

"How am I supposed to know? Some poor kid you tormented in playgroup, probably. You always did have an abnormally large sex-drive," smirked House.

"Was I really a bad husband?" This had been tormenting him ever since Julie had been to see him. House cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, twirling his cane dangerously close to Wilson's face.

"Hopeless," he finally answered. Wilson looked crushed and House felt an unusual swell of pity for the man. "You always meant well."

"That's not the same, House."

"Well, you did," House said determinedly. Wilson massaged his temple.

"I cheated on my wife!"

"Wives," corrected House. "Plural." Wilson groaned.

"I'm a bad person."

"Don't go all drippy on me now, we were just getting to a good part!" House sighed and switched off the television. "You never meant to hurt any of them."

"But I did."

"You always told them."

"Does that make it better?"

"No," replied House. "But it should. No one's perfect."

"Except you, right?" Wilson said, half-smiling.

"No need to state the obvious."


	12. Chapter 12: Duty

23 minutes. 13 seconds.

14 seconds.

House stared at the clock on the wall.

"-and she _coughed_ last night! I mean, she's never even _sniffled_ before! Has she got influenza? Oh god, she's _dying_, isn't she? My poor baby! Oh, _Annabelle_!" House ventured a glance at the woman sitting opposite him, a young girl on her lap. The girl eyed him crossly, her nose wrinkling with boredom. Her mother had been at it for almost half an hour.

"Mrs -"

"Newbury."

"Please leave the room." She looked stunned. Her daughter looked thrilled.

"But -"

"I need to talk to your daughter in private," said House slowly and clearly. The woman frowned.

"Well, I really don't see what you need to ask her without me in the room! She's my daughter!"

"Mrs Newton -"

"Newbury."

"- Newbury, I have some questions that your daughter may find awkward answering in front of you." She glared at him suspiciously.

"Like what?"

"I think there might be something seriously wrong with her. Have you heard of the disease Nanofluchoccus?" She squeezed her daughter tightly.

"No."

"I thought not. There are some tests we need to run, and you'll have to sign some forms." The mother almost ran out of the room. Able to breathe, the little girl shifted in her seat, looking at the doctor with accusing eyes.

"That was a _lie_," she said delightedly. "Mommy says lying is wrong."

"I'll bet your mommy thinks a lot of things are wrong," muttered House, pulling a blue lollipop out of his pocket. "Want it?"

"Mommy says lollies are bad," she said, taking the lollipop, unwrapping it and putting it in her mouth. She began to suck vigorously. House relaxed, rather futilely believing it would shut her up. "Am I schiks?"

"Dying. Two hours, max."

"Oh dear," she said, looking rather pleased. "Mommy will be really upset." They sat staring at each other for a few moments.

"How old are you?" she asked suddenly.

"Ancient."

"Are you married?"

"Women like your mother have persuaded me not to." She smiled, her tongue bright blue.

"Do you still go to school?" House groaned.

"I think I prefer your mother," he said.

"What's your name?"

"Usually, that question comes at the beginning of the conversation."

"What's your name?" House rolled his eyes and wondered how cross his lawyer would be if he gave the girl - _Annabelle_, poor thing - a sedative.

"Greg."

"That's a boring name," she said conversationally.

"Your name is _Annabelle_. Like that peeing doll," he replied childishly. 4.58pm.

"So?" she said, scowling. "My mom chose it."

"No kidding."

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at his cane.

"A special tool for hitting annoying children." Her eyes widened.

"Really?" she said, unperturbed. There was a short silence before, "Who's your best friend?"

5pm

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to break up our little chat." The girl kicked her legs up and down, creating a steady loud thumping beat.

"Bye!" she said, waving. House forced a grin and almost ran out of the door.

---

House sank into the chair opposite Wilson's bed with a sigh.

"Fun in clinic duty?" Wilson had come to learn House's timetable.

"Bundles of it," said House foully. Wilson opened his mouth to ask something but House silenced him with a glare. "I have just been through the mother from Hell followed by her minion." Wilson closed his mouth, nodded and switched on the television.

---

Okay. Slightly random chapter. Interesting one coming next, promise!

R & R :)


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